


A Midday Aria

by t0talcha0s



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Duets, F/M, POV Rose, Pranks, Technically Indiana jones the crystal skull, movies - Freeform, this is the closest to fluff I'll ever write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4397528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drenched in pale sunlight and ringing melodies he's beautiful. He is also at times, contemptible, but you always manage to adore him even still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midday Aria

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to the piano cover of mad world and Runaways by Maeve Kelly for being my writing music.

It's a slow Sunday afternoon, the part of the day where the sun is hidden behind clouds, neither up nor down, and time seems suspended. Everything is languid and calm and you revel in it. Your shirt black and in the state between form fitting and far too large, your lips stained the same color, and a pair of plaid pajama pants covers the distance between the bottom of your shirt and the floor. 

"Duet with me and you can pick tonight's movie." Were the first words out of your mouth on such an evening, and he nodded in agreement. Now you settle your violin on your shoulder, bending your neck down into the familiar, uncomfortable position, plucking each string to check for any discordant notes. John settles at the old, upright piano you bought cheap at a garage sale. The wood is worn and the paint chipping, sheet music and books, along with what looks like shaving cream and a dollar store disguise, are strewn across the top or it; the keys stick and the pedals hardly work anymore and it's not the most in-tune instrument but it serves its purpose. Your violin however is top quality, paid for by your mother and no doubt costing an exorbitant amount of money, the plush case resting against the piano. 

"What piece are you feeling tonight?" He asks as he settles himself onto his piano bench. You tug the corner of your lip up in what could be a smug smirk and place a well rosined bow to string. The beginning of this piece, which you know he knows, is staccato and exaggerated on your part; melody quick and whipping from high to low and with incredible harmony on John's part as he picks up your slack. He smiles and the end of your mouth not impaired by your chin being squashed onto your violin quirks up into a smile back at him. He takes the melody from you with a graceful transition and you play your notes long and slow and vibrato in the right places. You flick your bow across the strings harshly, challenging his melody and it's almost a contest, who's melody shall prevail while still keeping the beautiful sound alive. John's fingers are long and deft with their movements and the sound responds full and enticing through the house. Your eyes fall shut as you crescendo, prepared for the climax when instead of a piano note a wet fart rings through the air. You stop playing, open your eyes, and flash John an unamused look. There's a whoopee cushion lying beneath his left foot and he takes one look at you, with that mischievous, trickster grin and breaks out laughing. "Rose your face!" 

"Hilarious, John." You say, voice dripping with sarcasm and it makes him laugh harder. You lower your violin to your side. He's hunched over on the piano bench clutching his side and steadying himself. 

"Oh my god. You looked so pissed." 

"I was enjoying myself." It's a tad petulant, just a little, but you could never let yourself be truly mad at him you know he'll make it up to you. 

"And I get to pick tonight's movie." 

"I'm not watching the crys-"

"We're watching the crystal skull!" He interrupts you and picks the whoopee cushions off the floor. "Oh come on, Jake let me borrow it and I want to watch it; you said I could pick the movie." Damn him he's right. You groan, picking up your case and nestling your violin in the soft fabric. 

"Fine," he smiles widely at you and something soft flutters inside you, inescapable and utterly delightful. "But you're making the popcorn." He nods and hops up, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you loosen your bow, your instrument requires so much more maintenance then his. You hear the popping coming from the microwave and the smell of 'butter' fills the air. It smells like acne and oil and everything good in the world. You pad, barefoot against hardwood floor into the living room. Your couch is grey with your fuzzy lavender blanket draped over the back and a green throw pillow against the arm; it's plush and comfortable and you sunk a bit of money into it and it was absolutely worth it. You settle yourself on the couch, stretching out into a simply luxurious position. A superposition of comfort, legs stretched out over the couch, pillow supporting your back, head resting against the couch. John walks in with the popcorn, old ghostbusters shirt and pajama pants decked in Christmas lights, he's an endearing sigh for sore eyes. 

"You look comfortable." You nod. "Gonna leave any room for me on the couch?" 

"Hmm, I'm thinking you could stand behind me and feed me popcorn and fan me like in a lascivious, hedonistic power fantasy." He snorts and walks over, setting the popcorn on the arm of the couch and shoving your legs rudely off the couch. 

"Not tonight, tonight is movie night and we're watching the crystal skull." He rubs his victory of crappy movie choice in your face and you roll your eyes. He shoves the popcorn towards you and starts the movie. 

Halfway through the, truly a piece of shit, film the two of you had migrated closer to each other. Your head lays on his shoulder, his arm around yours, two sets of legs stretched out and tangled together, flannel and cotton pajama pants rubbing together whenever one of you shifted. Your soft blanket draped around your shoulders, if only for the weight more then the heat. 

"Your hair smells good." John comments just as you're examining the perhaps homophobic references in Indiana Jone's one fear being snakes; you decide the hypothesis is bullshit but it's an entertaining train of thought. 

"The lack of diverse or well rounded characters in this movie is disappointing and the characterization is awful." You give in reply, you can feel his eyes roll as his thumb swipes a gentle, intoxicating back and forth on your skin. 

"I forgot not to try to talk about anything but analysis during movies." 

"That's what you get for picking poorly written movies." He pinches you and you laugh, tilting and turning your head up to press a quick and gentle kiss to his lips. 

"They're not that bad." His breath, clean, faintly reminiscent of popcorn, washes over your lips. 

"They're genuinely terrible." You kiss him again, he can't help but respond in kind and it makes you smile to yourself as you lay your head back on his shoulder. 

"You're genuinely terrible." He grumbles. You pull your blanket around yourself and laugh.

"And yet you put up with me still." 

"I love you so what choices do I have." Your stomach swells happily, an end to the song he wouldn't let you finish. 

"Absolutely none at all."

**Author's Note:**

> Real talk I don't know why johnrose makes me so fluffy but it does. God I'll have to write more fucked up Dirkhal to make up for how sweet this is. Gotta keep up that heart-ripping reputation. 
> 
> Hmu on tumblr at Barefootcosplayer


End file.
